Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus 1
by Just A. Dora
Summary: The Founders of Hogwarts were Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin. Two great witches and two great wizards, who, together, did great things. Terrible...yes. But great. This is their story...what you won't find in Ho
1. Ill Met By Firelight

Chapter One,

Ill met by Firelight…

**Hogwarts, 1992**

…the whole class was now hanging on Professor Binns' every word. He looked dimly at them all, every face turned to his. Harry could tell he was completely thrown by such an unusual show of interest.

_Oh, this is going to be tricky. Remember what Rowena said: 'Don't incriminate yourself, Henry Binns. Stick to what everyone else knows and make up your own mind later.'_

"Oh very well," he said slowly. 'Let me see…the Chamber of Secrets…

"You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago—the precise date—

_September 1st, 817. It was a Tuesday; I remember it like it was yesterday…_

-is uncertain—by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. The four school houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor…

…_brave at heart…daring, nerve and… chivalry? Doesn't sound like the Godric I knew…still, three out of four isn't bad…_

…Helga Hufflepuff…

…_just and loyal. Those patient Hufflepuffs are true, and unafraid of toil…If that's true, why couldn't she have worked harder to convince Salazar to stay, instead of doing…what she did…_

…Rowena Ravenclaw…

…_wise old Ravenclaw…a ready mind…wit and learning…all true. Except Rowena wasn't old…she was barely a child…_

…and Salazar Slytherin.

…_use any means to achieve their ends…yes, the Chamber of Secrets will doubtless fulfil Salazar's desires...its only a thousand years late…_

They built this castle together…

…_it took them almost three months, according to Helga, even with magic…_

…far from prying Muggle eyes, for it was an age when magic was feared by common people and witches and wizards suffered much persecution."

_Oh, Merlin. Those four were the greatest, they were incredible…how do I say this without giving too much away?_

He paused, gazed blearily around the room, and continued,

"For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. But then disagreements sprang up between them. A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more _selective_ about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor…

…_it's what they want to hear. It's what they know…I'm not lying, I'm just honouring Godric's wishes…_

…and…

…_don't hesitate, they'll know you're lying…that Granger girl looks like she knows too much already…_

…Slytherin left the school."

Henry Binns sat at his desk long after his second year class had left. He couldn't stop thinking about the old days. He hadn't thought about them in nearly nine hundred years, which was strange, considering he was a History teacher and spent his life—and his death—talking about nothing but old days. But this was different. This was _his_ old days…and nine hundred years suddenly seemed like an awfully long time…

**Camelot, A.D. 812**

Godric surveyed the rubble with disgust. A magnificent castle had once stood before him, with a clear moat and strong drawbridge, airy balconies and beautiful fireplaces in bedrooms, with warm sheets upon which various young maidens had lost their virginity…. Now it was little more than a midden.

_Bloody muggles._

Godric shifted in his saddle, unsure what to do. This castle, what was left of it, had been his home. He was tired, hungry from riding all day and it was nearing sunset. He scowled as he thought of his conversation with Salazar earlier this morning…

"_Godric, it is a folly if I ever heard one! We will be dining at the castle before midday if we ride brooms. If we take horses we can't expect to be home before tomorrow!" Godric had eyed the crude, uneven broomstick with distaste._

"_Salazar, I would rather my backside remain devoid of sores and boils than my stomach be allowed food a measly few hours earlier. Besides, Rigel is a strong and fast steed, I will doubtless arrive at Camelot just as fast as I would on that old twig!"_

"_I'll hold you to that, Sir Gryffindor!" Salazar laughed, mounting his broomstick. "Whosoever returns to the castle first may bed the fair Lady Louisa. The loser must reveal how many children he has sired in the last decade." Godric had laughed at the absurd wager._

"_Sir Slytherin, I shall see you at dinner!"_

Where Salazar was now was a complete mystery to Godric. As was the reason why he was now homeless. He had considered simply rebuilding the castle magically, but Camelot was a muggle kingdom; the only other genuine wizard (there were many who fancied themselves seers or potion makers; in truth they were lunatics) aside from Salazar and himself, was Merlin, the King's adviser. To attempt such a transformation on a pile of rubble that had already been seen by half the kingdom would be unwise.

There had once been a friar who was evidently magical, but he had passed away from an excess of food. His ghost remained, in search of more pleasures of the table, and Godric enjoyed talking to the spirit on occasion.

Now, Godric realized with a jolt, the same fate may have befallen Salazar. He didn't like the idea of his best friend being a transparent shell of his former self.

A sound of crashing stone distracted him from his thoughts. He turned Rigel in the direction of the noise, and heaved a huge sigh of relief as he saw Salazar crawl out of what used to be the moat. He stood up with difficulty; soaked, bruised and sore. But alive. Godric watched, rather amused, as Salazar stamped and kicked the broken drawbridge, cursing (not literally…he appeared to be missing his wand) under his breath. He didn't seem to realize that he was being watched by not only Godric, but by several onlookers, including a few from the king's palace. He picked up half a broomstick and discarded it. Godric laughed aloud in spite of himself, and Salazar turned to face him with a look of surprise. Quickly followed by contempt.

"Having trouble noble knight?" Godric mocked, leaning forward in his saddle.

"Godric. How nice to see you. Have you seen my wand…er…" he shot a sideways glance at the group of muggles who were listening, "...I mean my…_little_ twig?" Godric and the crowd laughed, uncontrollably. Salazar glared and gave the drawbridge another hearty kick. Some of it fell away to reveal…

"My WAND!" Salazar almost screamed. Godric stopped laughing, but the crowd were too loud to have heard. He trotted over to Salazar, his horse picking his way carefully through the debris.

"Salazar not so loud…oh." His face fell as Salazar produced his wand. It was in pieces, and bits of snake skin were sticking out of either end. Godric felt immediate empathy for Salazar as a fellow wizard, knowing himself how much a wand meant. Salazar's fingers were trembling and his eyes were beginning to glow. Godric knew that look well, and started to steer Salazar away before he caused any damage.

"What is going on here?" Salazar heard the low tone of his lord and sovereign, King Arthur from behind him.

_Arrogant, precocious little brat…just because he pulled a sword out of a rock…WHICH WOULD'T HAVE HAPPENED if Merlin hadn't been muttering counter spells every time someone else had a go…_

"Your Majesty," Godric said, dismounting his horse and bowing low. Salazar did the same, hastily shoving his wand—all three pieces of it—into Rigel's saddle bag. "We do not know what happened, my lord. Sir Slytherin and I arrived home only moments ago to this." Godric gestured to the mess behind him, not turning his back on Arthur for an instant. Salazar fought the urge to roll his eyes and snort; Godric respected Arthur in a way Salazar did not agree with, could never agree with. Both he and Godric had tried to pull Excalibur out of the stone dozens of times, and each time they had _felt_ Merlin blocking their efforts, both physical and magical. Then this child—this _Muggle_—had come along, yanked it out, and had been given a kingdom. He hadn't even reached puberty yet.

In Salazar's eyes, the young man looked ridiculous, sitting on his horse, playing at being king. To Godric, he was someone to be respected, watched over, and nurtured, until the day that he could rule alone. Merlin agreed that that Arthur deserved respect, but it was doubtful that he would ever let Arthur rule alone. Merlin would always be the power behind his throne. It surprised Salazar that Merlin hadn't thrown Arthur off the throne and claimed it for himself. However, a lot of things surprised Salazar, such as why he had lived in Camelot for so long; why he wasn't busy ruling the world…and why he liked Godric Gryffindor. Three mysteries of the universe that he had no time to unravel just now, because _His Majesty_ was talking and _Sir Slytherin_ must listen…

"…furthermore, I would like to be informed when my knights of the realm decide to take a holiday," Arthur said sharply. Salazar noticed Merlin was watching him and Godric from a distance.

"But my lord, Sir Slytherin and I were on a mission of great importance-"

"You have been gone for almost four months, Sir Grindelmore-"

"_Gryffindor,_" Salazar intoned.

Arthur and Godric looked at Salazar with surprise. A flash of what might have been gratitude passed over Godric's face.

"I beg your pardon! Did you just interrupt your king Sir?" Arthur really wasn't any good at pretending to be regal. It just didn't suit him.

Salazar, on the other hand, played the part of regal superbly. He lifted his head defiantly, raising one eyebrow, and said loudly and clearly,

"His name is Gryffindor, young man. You'd do well to respect your elders." Godric looked down at the ground, embarrassed. In truth, Godric and Salazar were only two years Arthur's senior. "Furthermore, if you value the service of your _knights of the realm_ so highly, it would do you some good to learn their names."

Without another word, Salazar turned and walked away, pulling Godric and Rigel along with him.

"Was that really necessary?" Godric asked, once they were out of earshot of Merlin, which was a considerably longer distance than the earshot of Arthur and the other muggles.

"Yes," Salazar said shortly. There was a pause.

"Thank you," Godric murmured gratefully. Salazar looked at him, superiorly, as he had looked at Arthur.

"I'd expect the same of you, Sir Grindelmore."

**>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>() **

"Do you know, there's talk of a new way of travelling-through fireplaces? Something to do with powder, apparently." Salazar said as he and Godric walked along the uneven dirt-path of Diagon Alley, towards Ollivanders, the wand shop, at Salazar's insistence. He had been a little wary for the last few minutes, as if the loss of his wand had rendered him vulnerable.

"Fireplaces? Isn't that a little, well, dangerous?"

"Well I doubt the fire will be actually lit when one travels in it…or through it…or, oh, never mind. I think it's more like a gateway, but in any case, Fire-Ice Potions will take care of any flames. It'll never replace apparating."

"Yes, I think I recall you saying that horses would never replace broomsticks," Godric said in a bored tone.

"They haven't! Horses are an amusing pastime, but they aren't an adequate form of transport, Godric—"

"Neither are broomsticks."

"Oh, look, Rosalind Roserubb has published her latest manuscripts," he said, changing the subject, much to Godric's annoyance. Nonetheless, Godric peered at the parchment that advertised Roserubb's latest work, _The Muddles of Marrying Muggles,_ before turning into the next shop along, Ollivanders.

"Ah, Sir Salazar, Sir Gryffindor. So nice to see you again." Mr Ollivander greeted them warmly. "Pray tell, which one of you fine gentlemen is in need of a wand?"

"I am." Salazar laid the bits of wand on the rough counter delicately, avoiding the splinters and woodworms.

"Oh dear," Mr Ollivander said disdainfully. "Pine, thirteen inches. Core of snake skin. Perfect duelling wand." He picked up the biggest piece, and a slither of damp snake skin slithered onto the counter with a slap. "Pity. As I recall, you were here for almost an entire afternoon before this wand chose you."

"An entire afternoon?" Godric asked, earning an eye roll from Salazar

"Go to Flourish and Blotts, I'll be with you later." Not waiting for him to change his mind, Godric gratefully left the shop, and set off down to his favourite part of the wizard street; the bookshop.

Upon entering, he was immediately set upon by Ben Blotts himself, a short man with a dry voice, as if he didn't use it much.

"Sir Gryffindor, I've set aside a copy of Roserubb's latest for you, I knew you'd be paying us a visit soon."

Godric managed to amuse himself for a long while among the gilt and parchment, mounting up a large pile of reading material, for which he was only paying a fraction of the price. He was Flourish and Blotts' best customer.

"Do you have anything about the disadvantages of broomsticks as a means of transport?" Godric asked, thinking of Salazar.

"Yes, here we are, _Brooms, the Bane of the Backside_, an excellent tool for debate."

"Thank you Ben-"

"Ah, Miss Ravenclaw! A delight to see you, as always. How may I help you?" Put out by this sudden lack of attention, Godric turned to see this 'Miss Ravenclaw'…

He was stunned. He was being passed over for a little girl! The girl was short, with long brown hair down past her waist, which she wore loose like a street urchin. She looked flushed, as if she had been running, and she was smiling madly.

"Hello Ben," she said, breathless, "I haven't got long, Helga is at the apothecary."

"Of course, of course, I have some volumes on transfiguration, and the roles of women, but was there anything else you wanted?" Godric noticed he was magically shrinking the books as he talked about them.

"Rosalind Roserubb's latest, if you have it."

"Anything for my favourite customer. I'll be right back." He went behind a curtain. The girl jumped up onto the counter, against her better judgement. She fell off almost immediately, cradling a splinter ridden hand. Almost instinctively, Godric pulled out his wand and muttered _Arboris Sortir_ at her hand. The splinters flew out of her hand painlessly and went back to the counter.

"Thank you," the girl said gratefully. Godric smiled amiably.

"I couldn't help overhearing, that you read Roserubb?"

"Oh, yes, amongst others."

"You read a lot?" It was unheard of for women to read. The girl's smile faded at his obvious surprise.

"Yes. Women are capable of it you know."

"I hadn't realized," said Godric dismissively.

"Now, now Godric, don't be uncouth. This isn't Camelot; witches are capable of more than muggle women." Salazar had apparently taken less time than expected acquiring a new wand.

"Do you think so?" said the girl with quick interest.

"Why yes, my lady. You seem to be of sufficient intelligence to know that magical folk are far superior to non-magical. Take your interest in the written word, for example. It is a fine thing in a woman, but completely unheard of among muggles." Godric gaped unwillingly at Salazar's discussion. He himself had a way with women, but it didn't generally involve talking…Salazar was the charmer when it came down to it.

"Indeed. I see you have read work by Markus Slytherin," the girl replied delightedly.

"Indeed I have. My name is Salazar Slytherin, Markus Slytherin was my father."

Before she could reply Blotts finally appeared again, much to Godric's relief, with a tiny package that he suspected contained shrunken books.

"Here we are Miss Ravenclaw. That will be sixteen Galleons and twenty-one Sickles."

The girl handed over the money and thanked Blotts, before turning back to Salazar, apparently forgetting that Godric was there. Salazar was evidently enjoying the attention from such a pretty little witch.

"Extraordinary! I'm an avid reader of his views, although I can't say I agree with many of them, but his intelligence was far beyond anything else I've come across-"

"ROWENA!" A tall, blonde woman screeched from the doorway.

"Hello Helga." The young girl—Rowena—looked more put out than guilty. The shrunken books were nowhere to be seen, Godric noted.

"Where have you been!" the blonde cried hysterically. Rowena sighed, as it was rather obvious where she had been. "I was so worried; I thought a tiger had got you again-"

"Helga that only happened once-" She was cut off as Helga knocked the wind out of her with an embrace. Rowena looked at the ceiling helplessly, unable to move.

"Madame," Salazar cut in gracefully, "I apologise for detaining your sister, but we were having a rather fascinating conversation about-" Salazar stopped, suddenly struck dumb, it seemed.

"—dinner. I gather you haven't dined today." Godric stared at Salazar in bewilderment. He knew where this was going, and he also knew they had better things to do than take two ladies out to dinner. Two ladies who were evidently _not_ sisters, despite Salazar's flattery.

The blonde seemed oblivious to this however, as she raise a hand to her hair and smiled, releasing Rowena from her grip.

"It was our fault your sister is in this shop. We noticed she was alone without an escort and brought her in, as it was the nearest place of shelter and she was without a cloak," Salazar continued. "Please allow us to apologise by accompanying us to dinner," he finished with a debonair smile.

**>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>() **

Salazar pulled a chair out for Helga graciously, and she sat down, smiling flirtatiously. Godric would have done the same for Rowena, but she had already sat down. Their table at the Three Broomsticks was situated near the fireplace, at the request of Helga, who did not like the cold. Godric wrestled with his hilt for a moment before taking his seat, rearranging it so he could sit comfortably.

"That's a fine sword," Rowena noted. Godric smiled modestly. He couldn't help noticing how beautiful she looked in the firelight.

"Oooh, may I see?" Helga asked from across the table. Godric swiftly pulled the blade from the hilt and brandished it across the table, tilting it so the engraving could be seen clearly.

"_Godric Gryffindor_," Helga read with awe. "And do you, Sir Slytherin, have a sword as fine as this?"

"I prefer to use a wand. And please, call me Salazar." The charm never stopped with him.

"That reminds me, did you have any trouble getting a new one?" Godric asked.

"None at all," Salazar pulled his latest acquisition out of a thin bag he had in his robes. "Thirteen and a quarter inches, pine, core of Basilisk skin. Almost identical to my old one. So tell me Helga, what relation are you to Rowena, as you insist you are not sisters. You couldn't possibly be her _mother_!"

"Oh, no (patting her hair) Rowena is my goddaughter. Her father and uncle died recently, and her mother, god rest her soul, was a good friend of mine when we were growing up, so I took it upon myself to take care of the child."

"Hardly a child," Godric said without thinking, but Rowena seemed to take it as a compliment.

"Oh, I know she walks and talks as if she were a queen mother, and she reads too much for a young lady," Salazar glanced at Rowena with a kind of hidden respect, "her father and uncle raised her together and taught her all sorts of strange things-"

"Such as?" Godric prompted. Rowena shifted uncomfortably.

"Sword fighting, Occlumency, Transfiguration, Broomstick riding, Horse back riding in a _man's saddle, _would you believe, Archery, French, Latin, Greek…and even swimming! But I do love my little water sprite," she finished fondly.

Helga appeared to be able to talk for hours, and before long the four knew each other's entire histories in detail. Helga and Rowena lived in a small muggle village not far from the coast. It appeared Rowena had travelled extensively with her father and uncle, and she seemed to be a particularly cultured young lady. And particularly beautiful, as Godric kept thinking to himself.

"You seem to have done an awful lot in your lifetime," Godric said with admiration, taking a bite of his chicken leg.

"And you seem to have done very little," Rowena teased. It was true, Godric and Helga had felt somewhat inferior compared to Rowena and Salazar's rich tapestry of experiences.

_Well, I've lost this one to Salazar…_

"Isn't it odd," Helga said kindly through her potatoes. "With me almost forty and Rowena only thirteen, how she's accomplished so much more."

Salazar sprayed his wine over Godric, who simultaneously repaid the compliment with bits of chicken.

"Forty?" Salazar spluttered.

"Thirteen!" Godric choked.

An uneasy silence followed, during which the two men couldn't help staring at the two ladies. They both looked about their age, in their early twenties, although Rowena might have passed more easily as seventeen, but Godric would never have thought she was only _thirteen._

It seemed Salazar had also changed tactics, now realizing that the woman he had been fondling over was old enough to be his mother.

"Er, yes." Rowena looked highly amused, if a little contemptuous. Evidently she had instantly lost any respect she had previously held for the two wizards.

"Well, its getting late. Perhaps we should be going," Helga said pleasantly.

"Oh, but you're miles away from your home," Godric said hastily, "wouldn't you prefer to spend the night at our-"

"Pile of rubble?" Salazar finished for him.

"Oh. Perhaps some other time…" Godric trailed off, disappointed. Helga and Rowena may have been less than desirable ages for the two bachelors, but they still remarkably attractive.

"Oh, of course, your castle is no more! You shall spend the night at our home," said Helga said in a way that brooked no arguments.

The wizards did not object. They were still men, after all…


	2. Shall We Smile

**CHAPTER TWO  
**_Shall We Smile_

Rowena woke at the sound of the cockerel crowing as the sun was skimming the horizon. She shifted under the covers, causing a little avalanche of the books she had bought yesterday as they came crashing to the floor with heavy thumps.

"Rowena, darling!" came the cheery voice of Helga outside the bedroom door. "Are you up?"

"Yes Helga!" answered Rowena's parrot from his perch, in a practically perfect imitation of Rowena herself. She had found the parrot on one of her many adventures by ship, and he had followed her back to England, securing himself a place in the Ravenclaw family. She had to stifle her giggles under her bedclothes as Helga and Hogwarts, her parrot, had a discussion.

"Sir Salazar and Sir Godric are already at breakfast."

"Yes Helga!"

"Don't be too long, dear."

"Yes Helga!"

"And Rowena?"

"Yes Helga!"

"I'd tell Hogwarts to stop that, or to increase his vocabulary."

"Yes Hel—" Rowena stifled the parrot by levitating his little food-dish up to his beak and filling it with table scraps she summoned from the kitchens, two floors beneath her bedroom. He dug into it greedily, his ruse forgotten as he accompanied his sloppy eating with "Aaarks" and, "Mmmms" loud enough to be heard by the entire household.

She sighed in disgust as she threw her bedcovers off. She had nothing but contempt for the males of this planet. Three alone had earned her love and respect: Her father, uncle, and parrot-and her scientific mind did not find this sufficient proof that men were worth bothering about, whatever their species.

**>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>()**

She went down to breakfast lazily, contemplating matters of the universe that thirteen year old girls often found interesting, such as how fast she could slide down the banisters of the main staircase, and how long Sir Godric spent in front of the mirror arranging his hair every morning. She seated herself at the breakfast table in the dining hall just as Helga bustled out, murmuring about cheese or fleas or something. The knights greeted her courteously and offered her various platters and jugs. Eventually, Sir Slytherin embarked on a real, if somewhat unnerving, conversation:

"Tell me, Miss Ravenclaw. How long have you been telepathic?"

Salazar was greeted with a spray of milk from Godric and a flying—partly chewed—strawberry from Rowena. "I see." He dabbed at himself with a napkin.

"But…you…I didn't read anything!" she spluttered.

"I have studied Occlumency and Legilmency since I was a child. As have you, I imagine," he added. Salazar went back to his breakfast, satisfied. Godric and Rowena, unable to catch his eye, looked at each other instead.

"Well," Godric said gallantly, handing her another strawberry. "Will your wonders never cease?" There was no trace of sarcasm in his voice. Rowena blushed, took the strawberry, and their fingers fumbled together. They smiled.

Salazar stiffened slightly as he realized he'd just lost her to Godric.

_Oh...blast. _

Generally, Salazar did not approve of debasing himself by swearing, and he did not consider conversing with himself to be exempt from this rule. He applauded himself on his self control.

_No matter,_ he told himself. _She is a pureblood, and an intelligent young girl at that. If Godric can overcome his scruples regarding her age, I would not mind her company for a while longer._

Helga entered the room, ushering in a well-fed looking house-elf, who placed yet another platter on the table. She smiled as she took her seat. Godric and Rowena were occupied with their non-verbal standoff, and so did not notice, but Salazar took it upon himself to acknowledge her presence with a polite smile.

_That Mudblood, however, is a thorn I will have to remove from my side directly. _

**>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>()**

"Miss Ravenclaw, enlighten me. What exactly is there to do all day in this blasted house?"

Rowena looked up from her book in surprise.

"I beg your pardon?"

"No offence meant, of course," Salazar went on, staring out the library window at the rain as it relentlessly drummed out its monotonous symphony. He'd been listening to it so long it had begun to talk to him, and he'd had to shake himself more than once to prevent himself talking back.

"But really Rowena, what does an intellectual do all day? I admire your intelligence but I hardly see how you acquired it if you stay cooped up in here all the time." The two had quickly taken to talking candidly to one another, finding themselves to be of the same frame of mind and having taken quite a liking to one another back in Flourish and Blotts.

"I didn't," she sighed. "Practically everything I learned was learnt outdoors in unusual and fascinating countries…with my father and uncle." There followed a pause, wherein the only sound was that of the rain beating at the window.

"How did they die?" he asked in a straightforward, yet kind manner. She hesitated.

"At sea," she said sadly. "We were…travelling to Greece from Asia, and part of the journey was taken by a muggle for of transport called a ship—my uncle's idea," she said fondly, now apparently happier about talking about her late family. "We hadn't been travelling for more than a few days when he was…sick…he said it was a common muggle ailment called seasickness and that it would pass. But he became feverish. We said we would apparate with him to a safe wizarding location where he could be treated, but he was stubborn…always had been, I loved him for it…" She took a deep breath. Salazar came closer and sat beside her.

"My father and I looked after him…he was getting better, but then…then m-my father became ill.

He was too ill to appparate. They both were, and they didn't…they couldn't…" she broke off shakily.

"They were delirious," he said understandingly. She nodded.

"They were both dead before the ship docked in Crete. I summoned a priestess, and I scattered their ashes to the winds. I think they would have like it." He nodded. Then after a beat, he spoke up.

"Do you honestly expect me to believe that crap?" he said flatly, highly offended.

"What?"

"Rowena, you forget I study all the magicks of the mind. Lies are radiating from you. Fear too. You don't have to tell me anything, but I'd rather you said nothing than make up stories." He turned away from her in disdain. She stared at him for a moment, then dropped her head guiltily.

"Helga seemed to believe it," she tried half-heartedly.

"I've no doubt. Rowena," he said seriously, facing her once again, "you have to grieve. You mustn't prove yourself to anyone or try to cover up any_ details _whilst you're still mourning."

She inclined her head up and observed him.

"You sound like someone who's talking from experience," she said mildly.

"I am," he said candidly. "My mother died four years ago; I was eighteen years old. It may not be the same, but it doesn't mean I didn't mourn, didn't miss her. And I still needed my father to hold me and cuddle me like a child."

"You're lying to me," she said with a teary smile.

"I'm comforting you," he said, smiling back. "In truth, I lashed out, fought with my father, sought comfort with wine and pleasurable company. But I set everything to rights before it was too late, and I'm glad I did. We all need a parental figure."

"But not all of us have one," she said gloomily.

"You have Helga, m'lady."

"She's not a parent. She's more a…nursemaid to me."

"A _nanny_? I find it hard to imagine Helga as a nanny, Rowena."

"I'm sure you do," she replied suggestively.

"I refuse to continue with this conversation," he said imperiously, smirking. "Do tell me, before I go mad, what there is to _do_ here."

"You mean besides read and tell dismal tales of death?" she said dully.

"Exactly. Although you haven't told me anything but a story."

Rowena shut her book with a sharp clap.

"Well, they did die at sea." she said, as if the matter was final.

"Go on," Salazar probed. She let out a cry of outrage and stood up, throwing the book over her shoulder.

"My lady, for one who prizes knowledge and books so highly, your treatment of these volumes is categorically _insolent_—"

"On a muggle pirate ship! They died on a muggle pirate ship—slaughtered by muggles with blades much like dear Sir Gryffindor's treasured sword! We apparated to a ship, not knowing who the inhabitants were, as we often did. We were reckless; all three of us were incredibly stupid and carefree and…close. We stowed away, and when we were discovered, the blasted blackguards tried to slaughter us.

We should have just apparated or wiped their minds but we were quite simply bored, and wanted some action, so we fought them on their own terms—with swords. But one of the men pulled a bow and arrow and shot my father in the chest. He…fell. My uncle was distracted, I was cornered and outnumbered and injured and we were panicking, we somehow managed to group together and were ready to apparate when my uncle was stabbed in the back. I-I saw the blade through his chest…the blood…he was dead in an instant. I was hysterical, I told my father to apparate, but he wouldn't move, he just lay there, like he had no more strength left. It seemed like eons but it could only have been seconds...he said to me, 'Go, now,' but I wouldn't, I wouldn't leave him, so he pulled his wand, and……and the next thing I knew, I was in Asia, at the house where we were to stay.

It took me months to locate their bodies…I tried apparating back but the ship had moved on, or I couldn't find my bearings, or something was amiss. By the time I had found them and had done with a priestess, Helga had, by some means, heard of their deaths and asserted her…guardianship over me. I never told her, or anyone. I have no idea why I told you," she finished. She had told the story very fast, breaking into silent tears near the end, and had ended by falling back on a chair, drained.

"Perhaps because you know I can be trusted. I understand, it must have taken bravery to reveal that which you have kept secret for so long," he suggested quietly. She nodded tearfully, and, unable to hold back the flood any longer, fell into sobbing heavily. He came to her side, bending to take her in his arms, and consoled her, as she had never been consoled; not by a relative, or a boyish playmate, or blackguard with an ulterior motive. But by a man. He only held her, saying nothing, letting her grieve for over an hour, for he, better than most, knew the agony of loss.

**>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>()**

Helga came into the library to announce lunch at noon. The atmosphere was sombre, yet calm. Rowena had composed herself and she and Salazar were poring over the book of transfiguration she had bought in Diagon Alley the day before.

"Who would want to change a perfectly good piece of parchment into a fish so small?" Salazar was saying as she walked in.

"Well...suppose you were starving and without means of obtaining food, but you _did_ have a few books with you. You'd have an instant feast," Rowena replied.

"I wouldn't sacrifice any book for an anchovy, madam."

"Even a bad book?"

"Even bad books are books, and therefore sacred."

"Well said, sir," she said with a smile.

"Don't mock me," he said derisively, smiling all the same. Rowena laughed, and Helga took this opportunity to interrupt.

"Excuse me Sir Salazar, Rowena dear, lunch is ready."

"What is it Helga?"

"Fish, I believe, dear."

"Fresh or parchment variety?" Salazar muttered, getting up.

As they reached the dining hall, they saw that only two places had been set.

"I'm afraid I have to go out to run a few errands, so it will just be the two of you for lunch. The house-elves should serve you in a minute." And with that, she pecked Rowena on the cheek and left.

Salazar pulled Rowena's chair out for her and she sat down gracefully. He swept into his own chair and surveyed her through the ornate candelabra that hung low from the ceiling. It was gloomy outside, the rain persistently pouring, and the single source of light coming from the candelabra that illuminated only an undersized circle of space around them, giving the atypical impression that they were the only two people for miles around.

"I assume Sir Godric is not hungry," Rowena mentioned, as a number of house-elves tottered into the room, mostly hidden by the large plates of food that they placed on the table by reaching up above their head and sliding on from the corners.

"Blasted man never eats," Salazar replied, resting his chin on his knuckles. "Barely stops to sleep and has to be constantly reminded to do so should he lapse into delirium." Rowena giggled.

"What a good thing he has you as his companion. I can't imagine a better friend." Salazar paused halfway through the act of reaching for his wine goblet, and looked at her shrewdly.

"Are you attempting to court me, Rowena?" She stared at him.

"No."

"Good, because I hasten to inform you that I do not find you attractive in that respect." He took a sip from his goblet and turned his attention to his lunch.

"How dare you," Rowena said quietly, taking a forkful of fish.

"Come again?" he asked. She swallowed.

"Why on earth was that necessary?"

"I believe on commencing acquaintances on even ground."

"We are on even ground, Salazar. And I hasten to inform _you _that the prospect of courting you hadn't once crossed my mind!"

"Yes it did; twice at breakfast and once in the library, you forget I am a Legilmens."

"I…I hadn't forgotten," she shot back weakly, instantly dropping her gaze. He chuckled.

"I apologise if I affected your delicate sensibilities, Rowena, but you must understand that I harbour no feelings toward you except my approval and my respect…" he trailed off as she had lifted her head and was staring at him, eye to eye.

He saw what she was thinking now, _arrogant knightly bastard, _what she was feeling, _anger, vengeance, superiority, injured pride, _what she was remembering, _this morning, at breakfast...'…Lady Slytherin? I suppose Sir Salazar has had his fair share of women, but what would it be like to marry him…? _And if Salazar's memory served, it was at this point that he had lost eye contact with her… '_No, I don't think I could cope with being married to someone who would suffocate me intellectually. I don't think he is particularly broad-minded either, he probably takes after his father in his views and I can't imagine him being particularly splendid in bed, and I don't like that abnormal mole on his neck—'_

"Alright, alright, you've made your point quite clearly m'lady," he snapped, breaking his gaze and furiously stabbing his fish with his fork. She blinked, smirking widely. "I suppose those thoughts were only worsened in the library?" he added sullenly. She paused.

"They were…modified." He looked up, mildly curious. "I decided you were a man of consideration, at least. But no, Salazar, I don't want to court you, much less be your wife."

"I suppose I hadn't realized he extent of your intellect," he said evenly and honestly. She smiled. "And, in any case, I don't take children to my bed."

Her fork fell to the table with a bang.

"You still think me a _child?_" she spat. Calmly, he laid his own fork down on his plate before answering her.

"Rowena, there can be no doubt in my mind that the quality of your intelligence and dialect and indeed, your life, far surpasses that of any mere child. You know I respect you, you know the lengths to which I have gone to assess you as a worthy acquaintance, and you know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you have not been found wanting in my eyes.

"But you are still thirteen years old, my friend. And I would rather you were not yet my equal in everything."

**>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>()**

"Excellent lunch. Where did you find these house-elves?"

"Ask Helga, I haven't the foggiest," she smiled. They sat in companionable silence for a minute before Salazar spoke up.

"Well, Rowena, we've heard each other's life stories, you've sobbed on my shoulder, I've betrayed your trust through Leglimency, we've mutually agreed that we are not suited for wedded bliss, we've quarrelled over all three, and we've had lunch…what would you like to do now?"

She laughed out loud at this one.

"Well, what is dear Sir Gryffindor amusing himself with?" she countered, not disguising the fact that she really didn't care. After the moment with the strawberry earlier that morning, Godric had not gone out of his way to engage Rowena in anything, and she had afforded him the same courtesy, and their friendship had hit something of a stalemate.

"Oh, he's sword-fighting with the suits of armour he charmed in the dining hall," he said dismissively.

"Really?" she asked, interestedly.

"Yes," he said, surprised. "Why, does that sound like an interesting way to spend the afternoon?"

**>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>()**

Four seconds after Helga shut the front door, she heard it.

CLANG! _CLASH!_  
SMASH!

A girl screaming. _Rowena_.

Shouting: "Rowena!"

"Godric, halt. Halt! HALT!—Rowena!"

"Oooof! Good Lord woman, desist!"

Helga ran to the hall as fast as she could, where the sounds were coming from, dropping and smashing all her purchases in her haste. She burst through the door brandishing her wand, and…well, what she saw made her flush to the core in all her simplicity. Salazar, watching from a safe distance with his back to Helga, seemed rather amused. He hadn't noticed her enter.

Rowena was lying flat on the floor, her hair loose and in disarray, her dress rumpled and splayed about her, gasping for breath, and Godric was straddling her with a sword to her throat. Another sword lay a few feet away in a pile of crystal that had once been Rowena's uncle's crystal ball. Rowena was giggling helplessly despite—or in actual fact due to—her onslaught, and Godric, smiling broadly (poor Helga dropped her wand in shock) bent down and kissed her.

Salazar turned immediately at the sound of the flimsy wood tapping the stone floor where it was dropped. A wave of embarrassment would have overcome a weaker man. Salazar Slytherin merely smiled at Helga as he walked over to her, stepping delicately over the rubble in his wake.

"Shall we?" He took his arm and led her out of the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

**>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>()**

"Godric?"

"Hmm?"

"Would you mind very much getting off me?"

Godric blinked.

"Uh, of course, m'lady." Somewhat clumsily, he shuffled off her and clambered to his feet, beating away the dust on his robes that had come from the breakage. "I'm very sorry if I offended you at all, Rowena—"

"Not at all," she said from the ground, pointing a sword at his throat. From the sunlight gleaming through the windows and illuminating the inscription on the blade, he saw that it was his. She grinned up at him, reclining on the floor.

"I'm not easily offended, Godric."

Wordlessly he smiled and offered her his hand. Withdrawing the sword, she took it and he pulled her up close to him. Her breath caught in her throat. Slowly, she dropped to her knees in front of him. His eyes gleamed with wonder. But a moment later, she had sprung up and pushed the other sword into his hand, which she had retrieved from the floor.

"Shall we?" she asked silkily, falling back into stance.

**>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>()**

"I can't say I'm entirely happy with Godric….pursuing Rowena in such a…bawdy manner." Salazar fixed Helga with an appraising look.

"I suppose it's because you care about her so badly. You are a mother to her, after all." Helga nodded. They were walking out in the garden. The rain had stopped but the grass was wet through and the hems of their cloaks and robes and their boots were thick with mud and dew, but they were so engrossed in their conversation that neither was bothered. Salazar had come to two disturbing conclusions in the last twenty minutes: Firstly, that Helga was actually very intelligent, despite her apparent simpleton ways. And secondly, that she was uncannily pretty for a forty year old.

"Oh, I care about her, of course. Dearly, I do. So yes, I can't say I'm comfortable with it. But children will be children."

"You consider Godric to be a child?" he snapped curtly.

"No, I meant Rowena," she said honestly. "I still think of her as the little girl of four who used to turn my skirts to stone." Salazar chuckled at the thought of Helga unable to move. He was surprised to realize that he liked it.

"Sir Slytherin—" she began suddenly.

"Salazar," he urged her gently.

"Salazar," she said without a smile, "There's something I really need to tell you," she said quietly.

"Yes," he said huskily, leaning forward.

"Salazar, there…there is …there's a dragon behind you."


End file.
